


In Orbit Always

by paintbox (imstillprettyodd)



Category: Led Zeppelin, Rock Music RPF
Genre: Being High, Drabble, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Sex Drugs and Rock and Roll, i was listening to pink floyd while writing this so whoops, idk i was in the moment, night time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-12 11:37:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18445763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imstillprettyodd/pseuds/paintbox
Summary: It's midnight on the Starship and Monica can't sleep.Title from "Planet Caravan" by Black Sabbath.





	In Orbit Always

Like a beacon, the flame tip of the candle reflects in Jimmy's eye. He doesn't speak, doesn't move, just sits in the bed with the sheets bunching at his waist and stares. 

Monica occupies the doorway: a dark form with the light of the hall blooming around her. "I can't sleep," she says. Jimmy watches her slow-moving mouth in the darkness. His gaze is still sleep-stopped, but he moves his head slightly toward the side of the bed. 

Her peach pink slip sways at the thighs while she steps over to him. She kneels onto the bed and Jimmy acknowledges the glitter sparkling on her soft shoulders in the candlelight. 

"Mmm, close the door," he finally says, his voice rough and deep. Monica pushes her dark hair from her face and rises, slowly turning from him to fulfill his request. The room is quieter now, it seems, and covered with a bouncing orange glow. Jimmy reaches beneath the covers to unbutton the pants he fell asleep in. Monica drifts back to him, her head down and body outlined underneath the almost sheer material.

She crawls toward him again and settles beside, watching with round eyes while he kicks the pants to the floor and falls back onto the bed. He casts a look at her. 

"Jim..." She reaches a hesitant hand and scrapes a fingernail down his jaw to the center of his chin. She taps twice against the skin. When she's high, his face reminds her of the moon, pale and marked with short fields of black stubble. When she's high, she sees him from an angle, as if she's peeping around the corner to find the curl of his lips and the juxtaposition of dark on light. She's high right now. "I kept thinking of you."

Her voice is a breath and it fills Jimmy's lungs until he thinks his head might be full of helium. "What were you thinking?" 

Monica shifts under the covers, finding his thin thigh with a cold hand. She rubs a strand of hair between her forefinger and thumb. It's good to catch Jimmy at times like these, submissive and lazy, his body too blurred to differentiate from the sheets. "You're my star. Did I ever tell you that I read in that science magazine you'd left on the counter that humans are composed of some...percent of stardust? How magical..." her words fade and Jimmy reaches a hand to bury in her mass of hair. She readjusts herself until her feet are hanging from the edge of the bed and her cheek is against Jimmy's hip. She glances at him and a warm hand of pleasure traps her. Just her and Jimmy. Alone. She feels like she can taste the sequins from his stage outfits on her tongue. The little glass beads, the shiny thread. She's got her fingers in his underwear before she can think much of it. 

The inhale of air into his mouth sounds like the song of breeze through leaves. " _Every man and every woman is a star_ ," he recites. "You...ah...have a good memory, Monica." She works the fabric down and latches onto him with her mouth. It catches Jimmy by surprise and an achy yelp bursts from him while he loosens his leg from under her. Her red head is between his thighs, his tongue is pressing to the back of his teeth, and he's completely at her whims. He grips her head with both hands, a beg of a pause caught between his lips. If she could just let up for a moment, he'd be able to get back in control. If she'd just--her teeth scrape lightly on his sensitive skin and he nearly grows wings. "Wait," he breathes. "Wait, wait." In the back of his mind, the image of Monica sucking on a Bomb Pop manifests like a dream. _Christ_ , that was the first time he saw her: baked and pretty on the balcony of the Texas motel.

She's not waiting. Jimmy sees a poppy bloom in slow motion when he comes. When her warm mouth leaves him, his eyes open. She's above him, catching a bit of him that has spilled down her chin. She wipes it onto his sweating stomach. He catches his breath and gestures for her to crawl further up his body, the slip brushing with a ghost touch up his thighs. She has him pinned beneath her, legs on either side, but misses pressing her palms to his chest in the moment he flips their bodies over. A burst of laughter bounds on the other side of the bedroom door and for a moment, they are still, Jimmy's face caught in the pillow and Monica's body soft and outstretched and waiting. There's a shuffle of feet, a bang, and a jumbled shout from at least Robert and Bonzo. Monica's hair smells of Jimmy's cologne and it invades his entire skeleton. 

"Pagey!" A voice singsongs from the hall. Monica's pelvis rocks upwards. He holds his breath, a memory of the previous night's show.

"Probably passed out," a quieter voice mumbles. "How 'bout you went in there and tore his room up?" 

Jimmy presses his thumb into Monica's skin like he's giving a fingerprint. She moans and runs her fingers along his bare back: two, her middle and ring swirl down his spine. 

"Nah, I can't be bothered tonight." Someone kicks the door with the toe of their boot and the group meanders down the hall, accompanied by the giggle of girls. 

He lets his breath go and drowns one hand in the silk of her underwear. He bought those, he thinks, as he holds her. He retrieves his fingers after a moment, shiny in the candlelight. Monica has her face turned away, the tip of her nose and her chin the only visible hints of skin underneath her hair. Jimmy brings himself up and regrets leaving her softness. How soft a woman is. He had almost forgotten that Monica is apricots and sweet saliva-coated candy. The insides of her thighs are like brushstrokes, dividing, pulling away to reveal another set of colors. He fingers her more, until she is mewling and red-cheeked, until his erection forms in the space between them. 

"Look," he mumbles, and her head turns. The shadows from her nose and lips dance like thieving figures across the side of her face. "Alright?"

She nods and breathes, "Alright."

To Monica, it's the sweetest invasion. She thinks about laughing. She's a desperate John Donne asking his god to lay siege to his body the village. And like Donne's god, Jimmy is three-personed. He is here, in the physical with her, but he is also there, back on stage, with bow raised to the air. He feasts and seems to take her up with his eyes and Monica remembers that he's also stowing his fingers into her heart and her mind. 

She cries out as she orgasms and it's a sound that was sitting in the back of her throat like a secret. Jimmy follows her and collapses his head onto her chest. Spent, tired, aching. A long gap of silence follows. 

"Will you light a stick of incense? Whichever one you want." Monica draws five invisible hearts onto his skin before letting him find the lighter. 


End file.
